


The Shield

by ValmureEld



Series: Legend of the Sword Deserved Better So I'll Write it All Myself [2]
Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea how to tag this wow, Kinda, Memories, Mentorship, Self-Doubt, Will and Bedivere reminisce, encouragment, light injury, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11004480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValmureEld/pseuds/ValmureEld
Summary: The act of protecting someone else at the expense of yourself seems to be a Pendragon trait right along with magical sword wielding. It's making Bedivere and William tired. Even if they are more than a little proud.





	The Shield

**Author's Note:**

> This was partly inspired by cats_eyes' comment on my Excalibur's Heart fic. It was also in part the beginnings of me wanting to explore more ways that Arthur's attitude would come through as a king. 
> 
> My disclaimer is that I was falling asleep while finishing this so if there's a really dumb error or something sorry. I just really wanted to write and post more Arthur fic tonight.

Barely controlled recklessness was how he grew up, so why anyone thought he would grow out of it when he became king was an utter mystery. 

“We could hope, doesn't hurt,” Bill drawled, his posture lazy as he lounged by the round table, turning his goblet. Next to him, Bedivere snorted.

“Hope is a waste of energy at this point. He's his father's son, through and through. Uther's blood most certainly flows in those veins and we don't need any magic sword to prove it.” 

“Uther always was a reckless force of nature,” Will said, shaking his head and smiling at the memory. “His solution for most things usually placed himself right in the heat of it. I remember the matches he got into as a prince—sometimes he seemed too hot headed to be king.”

Bedivere made a sound of agreement, nodding. “I patched him up from enough of those fights, though I recall you were involved in a few of them,” he said snidely, raising an eyebrow.

William waved him off. “Someone had to watch his scrawny back.”

The older knight smiled and chuckled into his drink. They were alone in the hall, sitting at the table Arthur had had commissioned and remembering their old friend and King. It was hard not to, when Arthur was spending what happened to be Uther's birthday recovering from an arrow wound. 

“It does surprise me that Arthur grew as he did. I do not recall Uther ever being that tall or developing raw power so well. He was always a little more evasive in his fight.”

“Because he had to be. He had his season of throwing himself bodily at a problem, and it never fully went away. I still can hardly believe he took an entire city at seventeen by camping his men in front of their doors and refusing to move until they negotiated. And you recall wrong, Uther was tall. He just never quite filled out his armor.”

Bedivere snorted, casting William a look. “Like you should talk, Goosefat.” 

He shrugged one shoulder. “I'm built for speed and distance, not brute force.”

“Doesn't stop you from throwing a punch.”

“When the occasion calls for it every man should be ready to throw a punch.”

“Arthur certainly is,” Bedivere observed dryly, reaching across the table to pour another glass.

“Considering his father once got himself a split brow for punching a cheating knight are you truly surprised?” William asked, taking the bottle when Bedivere was done with it to top his own drink off. “I can recall a few of Uther's more spontaneous adventures. He did cool when the crown finally rest on his head and having his wife and Arthur made it better but that boy in the tavern we grew up with never fully went away.” 

“Do you remember when we stole the baron's horses in the dead of night and raced them from one end of the city to the other?” 

William grinned, nodding. “We borrowed them, as Uther put it. We did give them back when we were finished.”

“Sounds like you two were a lot more fun before you got old,” Arthur's voice interjected. “A pity I missed it.” He walked into the lamplight and took an apple from the table, sitting and leaning back in the chair to prop his feet up. 

Bedivere fixed him with an exasperated look of disapproval. “Arthur, you should be resting. You were shot not four hours ago.” 

“It was a clean shot, didn't damage anything important,” Arthur argued, though he held his left arm oddly and leaned away from that side of his body. “I'm all bandaged up so snug I can barely breathe so you don't need to bother your pretty head about me falling suddenly apart.” He took an obnoxious bite of the apple, crunching away at it as he wiped juice from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You are king now, you can't throw yourself about like a street urchin anymore,” Bedivere said, frowning at the grimace Arthur tried to hide. “You will re-open the wound if you aren't careful.”

Arthur held up a finger, finishing his mouthful before he fixed his raised eyebrows and piercing eyes on the knight twice his age. “First off, I was never a street urchin. I had a bed and a warm meal most nights. Second, I'm not even using my injured arm or side and I know how to handle a wound so stop lecturing me. Thirdly, and I saved it for last because I can't believe I'm addressing it at all—if you wanted me to be king then, in theory, you wanted me for my delightful personality so why would you be critiquing something you know isn't going to change? Especially when apparently my dad did the same thing.” 

Bedivere narrowed his eyes. “I am not telling you to change, I am telling you to live beyond your thirties.”

Arthur put his feet down and leaned on the table then, his expression turning serious. “Bedivere, if I hadn't taken that shot the boy it was meant for wouldn't have made it to twenty.”

Bedivere sighed, his eyes cast down. “I know.”

The boy in question was a new recruit, a soldier green in his first battle. An archer had taken aim and without thinking Arthur had stepped between arrow and target, absorbing the hit. Once crowned and knighted he'd started wearing armor in battle and that was what saved him. The point had slowed enough by the time it pierced his chest that the injury was relatively minor. That didn't stop him hitting the ground with the impact or the poor soldier's face turning absolutely white. 

“Then it's settled, and I don't want anyone saying anything to him about it, so if you hear word the one giving him grief will deal with me,” Arthur said firmly, getting up and taking his apple with him.

“Understood,” Bedivere said, glancing with a knowing expression that William returned. Uther also hadn't tolerated any kind of bullying in his ranks and while he was raised as a prince and therefore never quite as cavalier as Arthur, that same spark was certainly there. 

The next morning Arthur was in the armory, discussing what needed to be repaired and replaced with the blacksmith he planned to commission. He was dressed the way he always was when he didn't expect the thick of battle: the leather pants and simple shirt he wore most of his adult life. His boots had improved and he often carried Excalibur, but that was the only real change. It took many who worked in and around the castle time to get used to his relaxed demeanor. Having the king just suddenly walk into the kitchen and compliment the stew after helping himself to a spoonful was a terrible shock to some of the kitchen staff, and either Arthur didn't notice or he found more amusement in not acknowledging the stunned silence and flurry of whispers the second they thought he was out of earshot. 

Because of his simple garb, one of the first things the boy's eye caught was the bandages still wrapping Arthur's chest beneath the shirt. He stood with his head bowed and his fingers white on the scabbard of his blade, waiting just at the door for Arthur to finish with the blacksmith and trying not to feel sick. 

Arthur paused mid-sentence, the figured huddled in the door catching his attention. “You know what,” he said to the smith, clapping his hand on the older man's shoulder without looking away from the boy. “We can finish this later. Why don't you go and get something to eat, ask Percy about the first payment. That way at least you can gather supplies.” He pat the blacksmith's shoulder and the man gave a bow before taking the hint and leaving Arthur and the boy alone.

“You look like you have something on your mind, son,” Arthur said, resting his hand on Excalibur's hilt. He was wearing the sword at his hip, more for convenience sake than any kind of appearance or necessity. He couldn't lose it if it was tied to him, after all. 

“Yes, sire, I do, if I could be so bold as to address you directly,” he managed nervously, forcing himself to make eye contact even though his grip tightened even more on his sword. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Oh don't go on like that have I ever stopped any of my men from talking to me directly? Going through six other people is not only silly it's exhausting and I'm not about to start doing it just because I've got a posh new hat.” He gestured with a hand before folding his arms. “Go on, what's got you so worked up?”

“I'm--” his Adam's apple bobbed and Arthur was suddenly struck to realize there were tears standing in the lad's eyes. “I'm not fit for duty, sir.” He knelt, holding his sword out like an offering. “I wish to resign, be assigned somewhere else where I can do penance for my shame.”

Arthur's brow furrowed and alarm sparked in his eyes. “Now hold on a minute, what shame?” He knelt as well, putting his hand on the sword only to force the young soldier to lower it. He tried to see the boy's eyes but he was keeping his head turned away. 

“I'm a soldier, sire,” he began, his voice sounding strained. “I'm to protect my kingdom and my king, not hide behind him and allow him to take a shot meant for me.” 

Now it all made sense. Arthur sighed through the nose, resting his forearm on his propped up knee. “What's your name, lad?” he asked gently. “And you can keep your sword, I've got a better one.” 

“Gawain, sir,” he answered, glancing up at Arthur's face before ducking his head again, busying himself by clumsily trying to re-fasten his sword to his belt. 

“Gawain, stand up?” Arthur requested, straightening up himself. Gawain moved quickly to obey, assuming an at attention posture. 

“Give me your sword?” 

Gawain handed it over and Arthur turned it around, adjusting the ties. “You have nothing to feel shame about. You were very brave on that field. Too brave. You're still learning, Gawain,” he said, bending to tie the weapon securely to the boy's hip. “You shouldn't have been in that battle at all and I'm not letting anyone die on my watch if there's another way.” He backed up and looked long at the boy, resting his hand once again on Excalibur as he studied him. 

“Look at me,” he said softly, and the boy looked, sniffing as a tear he couldn't hide made a trail down his cheek. He flushed and brushed it aside quickly. Arthur made no comment on it, choosing instead to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“You'll have your chance where you'll be the one to step in and shield someone else, but for now that's my job. Not just for you, for everyone I now represent. I grew up and grew strong because other people pushed and shielded me, and I did the same for you on my own will. You were no coward and you did not betray me. If you've realized the fighter's life is not for you, then I will accept your blade and give you my blessing to pursue some other life. But I've seen your determination in training and the way you watch your teammate's backs. That will develop. I'm counting on it. You'd make a fine knight already if you weren't so skittish around me.” 

Gawain's eyes went wide at that and he blinked. “Truly?” 

Arthur smiled, squeezing the boy's shoulder affectionately. “You've got a couple years and some more learning to be had, but get George to chase you about and you'll soon learn to keep the upper hand in a fight. You've already got the important bit down,” he assured, letting go of Gawain's shoulder. “Fighting you can learn. A good heart is something you either have or you don't.” 

He beamed at that, though Arthur could tell he was trying desperately to be subdued and mature about it. He smiled, giving him a wink and a thump on the shoulder. “Go on, get out of here. You've got some sparring to make up.” 

“Yes sir, I'll get right on that sir,” Gawain said, his entire demeanor now radiating a new enthusiasm. Arthur chuckled as he watched him go, shaking his head and turning back to the swords. 

In the next room, Bedivere couldn't help his smile or the mix of ache and pride in his heart. 

“If only you could see what he's become, Uther,” he said to himself, watching as Arthur brushed away the dust on one of the hilts and then settled in with an oilcloth to buff an older weapon that needed attention. His back was bent over his work and his sleeves were rolled up, and Bedivere had to grip his own sword because for a moment he saw Uther sitting there. He still remembered Uther putting himself at great risk to bring wounded back to the tents or defend those that became overwhelmed, and at the end of the day he too had shed his crown in favor of rolled up sleeves, a kind word, and a bowed back.

**Author's Note:**

> Coming up with character telling instances for Uther was way harder than I thought because I believe that some form Arthur's same heart would be there but it would manifest differently since Uther was raised royal (I assume) and Arthur wasn't. I see Uther being more reckless when he was younger and not exactly growing out of it but growing to direct it better when he gets older? I dunno, launching yourself at a war elephant is pretty gutsy.


End file.
